


Washed Up

by britishshoe



Category: Classic Rock RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 23:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7458208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/britishshoe/pseuds/britishshoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>short one shot/stressed out bob fluff</p>
            </blockquote>





	Washed Up

**Author's Note:**

> idk why i made this i'm a hellion

On nights like these, Bob always came home stressed. He would make a beeline through the house to the bedroom and lie down, ready to pass out. On this particular summer night, he came in looking rougher than usual. It had been raining and his cotton shirt stuck to his body like a scuba suit, making a snapping noise when he pulled it from his skin. You are sitting at the kitchen counter drinking a glass of iced tea and thumbing through a book you've read one hundred times when he finds his way in, miserable and huffing. He says nothing to you and hardly acknowledges your presence with a nod. When you try to make small talk about the quality of the evening, he just grunts and rummages through the refrigerator for a drink. You watch him stand in the light and toe off his boots and socks, heavy from the long day and excess water. He tosses them to the wayside and makes another displeased noise through his nose before turning back to his search. His jeans are already beginning to dry in the indoor heat and his shirt lies in a haphazard heap over the back of the couch, something you have to move to the laundry before mildew ensues.

When you pad back to the kitchen, Bob is standing at the counter running his fingertips across the grout and drinking a beer. His eyes seem to hang in his face like two setting moons and he sighs against the rim of the bottle. You take notice now of his hair weighted down by the rain and pull a bar stool up along the kitchen sink before telling him to have a seat. He does without question, setting his bottle on the counter. You go to retrieve a bottle of shampoo before returning to guide his head and neck down over the back of the chair, resting them over the edge of the large farmhouse sink. You pull at the expandable hose attached to it and begin to soak his head, being sure to pull his hair up to spray underneath. He sighs as you pour shampoo into your palm and work it into his scalp with your fingertips. He looks as if he could fall asleep and your heart warms looking at his relaxed form. You take your time rinsing out his hair and grab the towel next to you, instructing him to sit up so you can lay it over his head and squeeze water gently from his curls.

"Aren't you gonna put it up in one of those twist things so I can walk around with it on?" This is the first thing he's said to you this whole interaction and you let out a small giggle while continuing your current method.

"No, actually, that causes breakage," you inform him. "Gotta keep those curls intact."

He joins you in a soft chuckle, enjoying the contact anyway. You wring out his hair until it begins to regain some volume, not held down by the water's gravity. When the towel seems to be at the end of its rope, you separate it from his head and lie it flat across the edge of the sink for the time being. Before you can turn around, Bob slides from his spot on the stool and hugs you lazily around the waist. He rests his head at your shoulder and breathes deeply against your skin. After a few seconds like this he lifts his head and whispers a "thank you" against your ear. You can't help but smile as he returns his face to your shoulder and his still partially damp curls run against your neck.

"Any time, Bobby."


End file.
